


All In The Mind

by horselizard



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Angst, Chains, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Related, Explicit Sexual Content, Exposure, M/M, Season/Series 05, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There comes a time in every Red Dwarf slash writer's career when they must write a Terrorform fic. ;) Porn without plot... <em>almost</em>.</p><p>The first line is taken from one of Ilthit's fantastic drabbles (see notes for link).</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In The Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [January 2013 Kink-Bingo Mini-Challenge: Red Dwarf Edition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/629109) by [Ilthit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit). 



They would see him – he knew they would – they would all see him like that when they rushed in to save him.

As the beast reared up in front of him, he was momentarily uncertain which prospect scared him more. And then, off to the side, it happened. His three saviours burst in in a clamour of crashing and yelling and bazookoid fire. The beast screamed and shrank back, and the cavern began to shake. Dust and rubble streamed down from cracks in the ceiling, showering Rimmer as he stared in awe at his shipmates’ bravery.

Finally, the beast beat a retreat, and the tremor of the earth subsided. The three lowered their bazookoids and looked at each other in stunned relief, before the air cleared to reveal their coughing, spluttering, half-naked companion, stone dust clinging to the streaks of oil on his chest, manacled at the wrists and ankles.

Rimmer stared back at them wild-eyed, feeling painfully vulnerable. They had come. They had come to save _him_. He might be chained and exposed and helpless, but it didn’t matter, because he could trust them, trust them completely, trust them with his trussed-up, stripped, grimy body. He was safe.

“Rimmer, are you okay?” Lister exclaimed, rushing over and yanking at the chains which still held Rimmer’s hands above his head.

“I’m fine,” he gasped, feeling the tremors pass through his body as Lister thumped the column in frustration.

“We have to get you out of here,” he exclaimed, glancing up at the cracked ceiling. “Smeg knows how long this place is going to hold.”

Rimmer didn’t understand what Lister was talking about. He was safe. They would keep him safe. The cavern wasn’t going to fall in, not while they were there looking after him.

“Rimmer, hold still,” Lister barked suddenly, cocking the bazookoid.

“Mr Lister, sir, what are you doing?!” Kryten yelped in alarm as he saw Lister aiming at the manacles which pinned Rimmer to the column, barely two feet from his head.

“I’ll be careful. I promise!” Lister cried, and Rimmer nodded dumbly, some part of him aware that this was a very bad idea, but it was a part that was small and quiet. A volley of laser fire hit the column, showering him with rubble once more, and suddenly his wrists dropped down in front of him, still cuffed together, fragments of stone clinging to the middle of the chain.

“Smegging hell, those chains are strong,” Lister exclaimed. “The bazookoid barely dented them. We’d need a laser cutter or something.”

“Then what are we going to do? I can barely walk. I’d slow you down,” Rimmer said meekly, glancing down at his manacled ankles.

“Only one thing _to_ do,” Lister replied, sizing him up. “Kryten, man, take my bazookoid.”

“Sir?”

Suddenly, Lister swooped down and wrapped his arms round Rimmer’s thighs. Rimmer’s eyes opened wide as he tried not to think how close Lister’s head was to his loincloth. “Bend over, Rimmer.” He stood frozen, and Lister tutted. “So I can _lift_ ya. I’ll carry you back to Starbug. It’s not that far.”

“Sir, are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather I –” Kryten began, but Rimmer had already lowered himself uncertainly down across Lister’s back, whereupon Lister hoisted him up apparently without excessive effort.

“It’s okay, Krytes. He ain’t heavy.” Lister grinned. “He’s a skinny little bugger, look at him.”

 

Rimmer’s upper body bumped gently against Lister’s back as they tramped along through the sultry night air of the forest. His arms dangled down uselessly below his head, the chain occasionally jingling as it swung against the metal detail on Lister’s coat. He had felt a little stupid to start with, slung over his shipmate’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but after a while, everyone had got used to this slightly odd state of affairs, and Rimmer’s mind had wandered, starting to properly process the novel tactile sensations he was experiencing.

For the first time since he’d acquired a physical form earlier that day, what he was feeling could not be immediately classed as unpleasant. Lister’s body was warm against his, and the arm wrapped around the backs of his knees held him with a reassuring tightness. The leather of his coat was smooth against his sticky, sweaty, gritty skin, and its smell was comfortingly musky. He relaxed into it, and was almost disappointed when he realised that they were drawing up to the ‘Bug.

“Kryten, Cat, you check out that rear landing leg – it's probably gonna need some work before we can get airborne again,” Lister ordered. “I’ll take Rimmer inside and work on these manacles.”

In Starbug’s rear section, Lister bent forward and lowered Rimmer gently onto the stack of crates they sometimes used as a makeshift table. As he pulled back, Rimmer looked up at his protector and swallowed, suddenly aware of how pathetic and helpless he must look, with his wrists and ankles cuffed, and only a meagre scrap of cloth covering his dignity. He was filthy, his curls choked with rubble, his chest streaked with oil and sweat and white stone dust. And Lister had _still_ rescued him, had still carried him tirelessly all the way back through the swampland, worthless piece of wreckage though he was. His heart swelled with gratitude.

Lister stared at his damsel in distress, his eyes darkening as he took in Rimmer’s wide-eyed, fragile form. He leaned in close to Rimmer’s dirt-smudged face, watching as his breath quickened. “To hell with the manacles,” he hissed urgently. “God only knows when I’ll get the chance to touch you again.”

Speechless, Rimmer stared at Lister open-mouthed, and licked his dry lips unthinkingly. That was enough to drive Lister to close the gap between them, pressing his lips to the ones Rimmer’s tongue had just caressed, then chasing after that tongue with his own.

Taken utterly by surprise, Rimmer gave a soft little moan, to which Lister instantly responded by deepening the kiss. He felt Lister’s rough, stubby fingers grasping at his hair, pulling him closer, and shuddered against the other man’s lips. Instinct drove him to lift his hands towards Lister, but uncertainty left them hovering in the small space between their two bodies. This was very definitely not the sort of situation where he usually felt safe. But after what Lister had just done for him, he would trust him to the ends of the universe. And so he continued kissing back, feeling as close as he ever got to lost in sensation. The little voice at the back of his head was still chattering away, the one that said he was doing it all wrong and that any second now Lister would pull away, repulsed, and laugh in his face. But it was muted, its resonance deadened by his calm confidence that if he followed his shipmate’s lead, nothing bad could possibly happen to him.

Then, gently, Lister broke the kiss, his hands still stroking his dust-choked hair, his face still close, gazing into Rimmer’s. That was when Rimmer realised he’d forgotten about breathing. Apparently, here, he did need to breathe. He wasn’t used to it, especially when he got distracted like that.

He panted desperately for air, short shuddering breaths that he could barely control, his cheeks flushing crimson beneath the white streaks of grime. Lister was staring, his eyes dark with lust, making Rimmer feel like he'd been torn wide open. Lister glanced down, and something he saw made him part his lips and groan with desire; Rimmer followed his gaze, and realised it had fallen on his trembling hands, hesitantly outstretched in mid-air, a perfect symbol of his utter vulnerability.

“God, I want you, Rimmer,” Lister breathed, slowly taking hold of the chain that was dangling between his wrists. Even though Rimmer had got his breath back by now, the look in Lister’s eyes made it hitch again. He gulped, gathering his courage, and then hastily nodded his assent before he could change his mind.

He watched in nervous anticipation as Lister rose from his crouching position, stepping closer so that he was almost straddling him. One hand still clutched the chain of the manacles; the other was still cradling the back of Rimmer’s head. Then his movement became a blur, and Rimmer felt his arms being wrenched up and back. He cried out as Lister shoved the chain down towards the top of the crates, forcing his upper body down with it. Then the breath was knocked out of him as he landed flat on his back across the crates, Lister’s hand supporting his head and stopping him just short of concussing himself.

Disoriented, Rimmer blinked to see Lister looming over him, his face lit up by a fond but mischievous grin. He tried to reach out, to pull the other man close, but his movement was stopped short. Lister still had the chain of his handcuffs under his supporting hand, and was leaning on it with all his weight, pinning Rimmer down with his arms stretched out above his head. He was in exactly the same helpless position as he had been not an hour previously, only horizontal instead of perpendicular. And this time, he really wanted whatever his captor had in store for him.

Lister was leaning over him with a predatory air, eyes darting hungrily across his exposed skin. Then he started caressing his chest, lust and possessiveness mixed almost with a tinge of wonder... the closest thing to a human body he had touched in three million years, Rimmer realised, and _it was his_. Lister's fingers followed the path the handmaidens’ had in the cavern, tracing the firm definition of his muscles, toying with his nipples and making him gasp. Grit and oil slithered between their two skins where they touched, heightening the sensations.

Then Lister's fingertips trailed down his stomach, and inadvertently hit a patch of skin so sensitive that it was ticklish. Rimmer yelped and jerked away, kicking out involuntarily, and Lister withdrew his hand, arching his eyebrow in surprise.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Are you going to keep still, now? Or are you gonna need a bit of help?”

Rimmer looked up at him guiltily. Lister would look after him. Lister knew what was good for him. “I... I might need help,” he whispered, a thrill running through him as he waited to see how Lister would respond.

Lister smiled slyly. “Good thing I'm here, then, isn't it?”

Rimmer's lower legs were dangling over the edge of the crates, the chain which held them hanging just centimetres from the floor. Suddenly he felt the manacles tugging at his ankles, the tension in them pulling at his legs and forcing his thighs down flat against the surface of the crates. Lister, he realised, had stepped down on the chain, and now he couldn't move if he tried.

“Thank you,” he murmured shyly, a feeling of absolute calm flowing through him at the knowledge that he was completely under Lister's control. That earned him another sudden, hungry, passionate kiss as Lister threw himself flat on top of him, groaning with desire, sucking and nibbling at his gently trembling lips.

He gasped as Lister worked his way down to bite his neck, his limbs pinned, his body constricted under Lister's weight. With his free hand, Lister was urgently roaming up and down Rimmer's body, fingers running slickly over bare flesh and taut, strained muscles. He tugged his t-shirt up clumsily, hungry for closer contact with Rimmer's naked skin, and swore as he realised it would be impossible to properly strip off without taking his hand off his manacles.

Rimmer swallowed nervously as he watched Lister's puzzled frustration. “It's okay,” he managed, blushing, “I won't try to move.”

Lister turned to meet his eyes, his gaze dark and penetrating, with only a hint of its usual mischief. “Oh,” he growled, “but I _want_ you to.”

Rimmer's blush grew deeper as Lister turned his attention back to the manacles. With quick, sure motions, he started to fiddle with the chain; seconds later, both his hands came down to cup Rimmer's face, pulling him in to a triumphant kiss. Rimmer tried to lift his arms, and within centimetres, he felt the manacles cutting into his wrists, holding him back. Craning his neck, he tugged at the chains, perplexed, but they didn't give. Lister had, he realised, fastened them to some kind of hook or clip on one of the crates, and he was stuck fast.

He looked back at Lister helplessly, and a shiver ran through him as he saw how much he had enjoyed watching him struggle.

Hastily, hungrily, Lister shrugged out of his long leather coat and pulled off his T-shirt. Rimmer's breath hitched at the electrifying sight of his smooth, firm body; then, within seconds, he was on top of him again, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss, his bare chest pressing close against his own and making him whine with pleasure.

“Lister,” he finally gasped as they broke off, “would you...?” He lowered his gaze, embarrassed. “Would you put the coat back on?”

A slow smile of understanding spread across Lister's face. “You know what, Rimmer?” he replied. “I can go one better.”

He lifted himself up, retrieved the coat from where he had cast it aside, and pulled it back on. He loomed over Rimmer for a few moments, looking him up and down, his boyish torso now framed with a long, imposing sweep of black leather. Rimmer shivered under his gaze, felt the power of his commanding presence, exposing and cocooning him all at once...

Then Lister reached down, and ripped off his loincloth as easily as the handmaidens had ripped off his robe.

Warmth pooled in Rimmer's gut, a flush which slowly started to make its way up his chest and neck. Lister was still standing over him, still drinking in the sight of him. He couldn't move, couldn't cover himself up, couldn't do anything but let Lister devour every inch of his helpless, vulnerable body with his eyes. The last barrier was down. He felt consumed. He felt... complete.

Lister dived on top of him again, his kisses and touches rough and possessive; the long leather coat enveloped them both, shielding Rimmer from the world, its scent a visceral, emotive reminder of the journey that had taken them both here. Rimmer kissed back passionately, responded to the press of Lister's body as best he could. His emotions were raw, his every weakness laid bare, but Lister's fierce tenderness was a balm, a protection. He had seen him at his worst, and taken him anyway, every last bit of him. He cried out against his lips, writhed under his touch, wanting to surrender himself, wanting to put everything he had into his possession.

“I want you, Rimmer,” Lister mumbled into his open mouth, his brown eyes boring deep into his soul. “I want you so bad. Give me... everything. Give yourself to me. Please. Would you let me...?”

“Oh, God,” Rimmer groaned, “do it. Do anything you want. Take me. Listy, please.”

Lister gave a howl of excitement, and kissed him with renewed fervour; it was some moments before he could take his lips and hands off him for long enough to do what he needed. He rummaged on the floor by the crates, one hand still running frantically over Rimmer's naked, oil-streaked skin, and finally produced a small white tub.

Rimmer had seen him use the stuff before, when he was working on his space-bike or doing maintenance on Starbug's engine decks. He had only the faintest idea of what it did, but the realisation that Lister was now about to set those confident mechanic's hands to work on _him_ made the breath catch in his throat.

Lister stood up, stepped off the chain which held Rimmer's ankles, and then bent down to lift it up. Rimmer let out a small, surprised cry as his legs were hoisted up and back. Then he whimpered as he found himself looking up at Lister from between his own feet, his erection lying flat on his stomach, his thighs pressed close against his oil-slick chest and spread wide enough for Lister to see _everything_.

“You have no idea,” Lister groaned, “how gorgeous you look right now.”

He span the lid off the tub and stuck his hand into it, then he reached down and touched his fingers to Rimmer's hole. Cold, thick grease quickly covered his entrance, slithering over his sensitive skin; he let out a squeak as one solid finger slipped inside, slowly smearing the grease deeper and deeper.

Rimmer squirmed and whined, his wide eyes fixed on Lister's calm, focussed face. He'd never done this before. And he'd seen the size of what was about to go inside him. But it didn't matter. Lister knew what he was doing. Lister wouldn't do it if he didn't think he could take it. And therefore, he was going to take it.

He relaxed, let himself melt around Lister's grease-covered finger, and Lister slipped in another, easy as breathing. He was machinery, he was moving parts, he was an object that would respond just as Lister wanted it to. A little stroke here, a little twist there, and he would run like a dream for him.

He gasped as Lister finally slid his hand out, trembling with anticipation and dribbling precum all over his stomach. At last, Lister's belt came undone, his trousers came down, and there was that monster erection, just as he remembered. _Bigger_ than he remembered, maybe. He didn't care. He wanted all of it. He wanted to be consumed, from inside and out.

Lister's eyes were almost black with desire as he rubbed his grease-slick hand over his straining shaft. “I want to ride you, Rimmer,” he breathed.

“Oh, God, yes,” Rimmer wailed, and then Lister slid inside him, right to the hilt, forcing him open, filling him completely.

Stars danced in front of Rimmer's eyes as he sank into the overwhelming new sensation. Pain and pleasure screamed confusedly through his nerve endings, the one heightening the other; his whole body was wracked with the dizzying fullness of Lister inside him. He tried to wriggle against the electrifying thrusts, but his legs were held firmly in place. As his vision gradually came back to him, he realised that Lister had the chain of his manacles braced tight across his chest, leaving him unable to move; all he could do was submit.

He claimed him with the fierce motion of his hips, with the rough roaming of his hands over his chest and thighs and buttocks and rock-hard member. Oil and grit and grease stuck to those strong, skilful hands and were smeared all over him. He was filthy, sticky, stark naked and powerless; pinned down and completely at Lister's mercy, under his control, as he had his way with him. It was all he deserved. It was _more_ than he deserved. It was what Lister had given to him.

He had been lost, so lost. But Lister had seen the good in him, seen it and carried him all the way back through the wood. He stared gratefully up into those unwavering brown eyes, which had seen him from the inside out, had seen everything that he was, and not even blinked. Finally, he had someone to watch over him.

A wave of utter calm flooded him, even as he felt his orgasm building, even as he knew he was about to be ripped apart. “Oh, Lister!” he cried as he came.

The cry sounded strange to his ears.

 

Everything was dark.

Groggily, he opened his eyes, and blearily focused on the dull white ceiling of his bunk in quarantine.

He groaned as consciousness came flooding back. Sixteen – no, seventeen days, now. Seventeen smegging days they'd kept him here, true to their word – nothing to do but sit there chewing over recent unpleasant events. Not even the old failsafe distraction was available to him; he had no privacy, never knowing when one of the crew would drop by the huge observation window to gloat over his misfortune, and he was too paranoid even to go into the tiny bathroom area to do it. God, if he left it much longer he would...

...fear gripped him as the more pertinent details of his dream finally came back to him, and he slowly looked down at himself, suddenly horribly aware of a certain damp stickiness in his nether regions. He cringed as he saw, sure enough, an unmistakable dark patch spreading across the crotch of his satin pyjamas. Gathering his courage, fervently hoping he'd got away with it, he turned his head to look at the observation window...

His heart sank. There was Lister, chin in his hands, his gaze intent, a smirk pulling at his lips. Rimmer shut his eyes and groaned, a humiliated blush spreading across his cheeks. He'd seen everything, he _must_ have. And what if he'd cried out? Oh, God, he hoped he hadn't cried out... the look on Lister's face, his paranoia insisted, suggested otherwise.

He would never live this down. How could he ever live this down? Hopelessly mortified, he didn't even have the will to call on Holly for a change of clothes; he just turned his face to the wall and clamped the hologrammatic pillow over his head, fervently trying to shut reality out, wanting to be left alone with the sticky mess in his trousers.

But it was no good. He couldn't escape. Lister was there, watching over him.


End file.
